Complacency
by The Rhapsody in Your Heart
Summary: He couldn’t imagine having it any other way. Rypay. Oneshot.


**Title:** Complacency

**Fandom:** High School Musical

**Characters/Pairings: **Ryan, Sharpay, with Rypay, of course

**Disclaimer:** I do not own High School Musical.

**Word Count:** 1,031

**Notes: **I wrote this ambitiously trying to master using present tense and past tense in one without making the timeline totally warped. So, if you got a little lost, I'm sorry. Just tell me which part seems like it has its own dimension and I'll try to bring it back to ours. (Does that make sense? Hahaha. Now you know what kind of state my mind is in while I was typing this.)

**Summary:** He couldn't imagine having it any other way.

o.0.o

Little things, Ryan thinks, no, _knows_, often build up into big things, most of which, you can never be prepared for. But then again, he couldn't imagine having it any other way.

It (if there was ever an it to begin with) started out, like most things, during that wonderful age they called childhood. As twins, he and his sister always spent every waking moment together, so it was hard not to get closer. How close exactly, he hadn't anticipated.

The real starting point though (or trigger as he sometimes calls it) was when Sharpay saw an ad in the newspaper. It was for a kid's show that needed some fresh talent. (She didn't read it; but she did see the bright flashy colors and squealed to her father, pointing to it repeatedly.) And that's how it happened, their very first audition.

In the end, they got the part. They didn't have to do much though: just stand and smile and follow Mr. Shufflawfubee around the set. Ryan didn't think much of it. Sharpay, on the other hand, loved it. And it was that that made her crave more, more lights, more pink, more applause, more attention.

Ryan never really understood his sister's love for the theater to fuel her need for constant attention. To him, theater just was. And he loved every single moment of it.

It was Sharpay's idea to always go after the lead roles. He didn't really care which part he played (as long as he got to wear a nice hat) but Sharpay thought otherwise, dragging him along with her to every audition she could sign up for. He didn't mind. As long as she was happy.

Now, he wonders, is she still happy? Especially when they perform. As the leads, it wasn't all that uncommon for them to have big romantic scenes and have to kiss every once in a while. He's still happy, sure, but _her_? Would she _really_ be all right doing _that_ for the rest of her life?

Well, _he_ would be. Though now, he begins to wonder how all right it is for him to be so comfortable with the idea. Most people (at least the ones he knows anyway) would find it strange to say things like "I love you" to their sister and kiss them too, especially in front of a big audience. But he never did. After all, he _does_ love her. What's wrong with admitting it? And isn't a kiss simply an affirmation of that declaration? What's wrong with that as well?

Perhaps the problem (if there ever was one), doesn't lie with loving her, but rather, in the way in which he does.

Well, first of all, he loves her as family, his sister, his twin. He loves her as his friend, his best friend. He loves her as a person. But most importantly, he loves her as Sharpay.

After all, what's not to love? She is very caring, though most of their schoolmates would beg to differ. But that's only because they don't know her like he does, something he is becoming strangely grateful for nowadays.

She is confident. She always knows what she wants and is determined to get it. And though some people might take this as being bossy and manipulative, he knows that isn't the case. She's just being strong. One of them has to be.

She is fun, although he doubts that whenever they go shopping, except for the days when she tries on various outfits and asks for his opinion and he likes to believe that she does that just for him. It is exceptionally true when they rehearse. Whenever she's in that studio, she turns into a rocket, ready to blast off at full speed at any moment, always eager for something new, always pushing that envelope, though now he isn't sure if that's such a good thing anymore.

Then again, he thinks, she has always been like that, even when they were little. She always wanted to go further, go bigger and better than everyone else. She pushed their dance instructor to teach more, more, always more. No more of the simple step, kick, twist, clap, tap, tap, tap. It had to be bigger, brighter, better. Nothing was ever good enough.

So, through the years, that became their routine. Start, learn, finish, more, more, more. From ballet, to tap, to waltz, to swing, to samba, to tango. It was a vicious cycle of attempting to attain perfection, where the moves became harder and harder, the days became longer and longer, and they became closer and closer, until he wasn't sure whose heart he heard beating anymore.

Just like now, he thinks, as he twirls some of her golden locks around his fingers. She said she had a nightmare. When he stopped believing that, he wasn't sure, but he let her in anyway.

When they were younger, on dark and stormy nights, (unlike the calm and quiet one tonight), she would knock on his door at 1 A.M. saying that she had had a nightmare, and he would let her in, scooting over so she could snuggle up with him in his bed. Then, he would whisper things about anything and everything to her until she would fall asleep and the only things he could hear would be her rhythmic breathing and their hearts breathing.

Over the years, this "tradition" continued, although the gaps grew shorter and shorter, until it was almost a daily thing.

Her third night in a row, he thinks, as he fiddles with more strands of her silky blond hair, her scent wafting through the air towards him, forcing his eyelids to droop, begging him to enter into dreamland.

So, he puts all of his questions and doubts and worries, all brought upon by too much thinking, at the back of his mind and lets his world fade into the comfortable haze of pink and more pink and the scent of peaches that could only mean Sharpay—_his_ Sharpay he likes to think on dark, sleepless nights—and smiles, because this—_all _of this—is perfect and he couldn't imagine having it any other way.

o.0.o

_A/N: I actually wrote this a long time ago but was too lazy to type it until now. It's my first ever Rypay story and second ever story to reach over a thousand words so I consider this a milestone in my literary career. Half-joking aside, I hope you liked the story. I may have gone a bit overboard with multiple commas, parentheses, and repetitions but I think it helps somewhat with their ambiguous and yet not-so-ambiguous relationship. (Am I still making sense? I'm sorry. It's really late here.)_

_Anyway, I hope you leave some comments/suggestions. They will be much appreciated._


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